


Wait

by StarBurnedOut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarBurnedOut/pseuds/StarBurnedOut
Summary: When Scott starts to get lost in all the pain and negativity of his life, Malia does what she can to help ease his burden.





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> This one was supposed to be a part of a larger story, but it didn't really fit what I was trying to do, so I figured I'd just post it by itself. It ended up turning into a little three-shot. With that in mind, it's a little light on details, but I think it still works for what it is. May have gone a little overboard on the sentimentality, but I don't know, maybe not. We all know what we're here for, right?

"Scott." The muted voice, accompanied by the soft touch of a hand to his shoulder drew him from his misery. Looking up, he saw Malia standing before him, sadness lining her face as she stared back at him. "It's over. We need to go."

Her words didn't immediately reach him, but when she held out her hand in front of him, he reached for it, a lifeline in the storm of pain consuming his mind. She grasped his hand hard, her skin warm against his, and pulled him to his feet. He let her lead him out of the clinic, past an exhausted Deaton, whose shirt was soaked through with blood and God knew what else. Argent was sitting on the floor next to him, legs spread, gun discarded carelessly next to him. He looked defeated, they both did, and neither said a word as Malia led her Alpha out into the cool night air.

The ride home was a blur to Scott, the world feeling like it was disconnected, moving by him at a different speed than he was going. He sat in the passenger-side seat next to Malia, head resting against the glass of the window, staring out at nothing. She never let go of his hand, shooting him worried looks as she drove the familiar path back to his house.

The McCall home was dark, all lights off when she pulled to a stop next to the curb. Scott moved on autopilot, mechanically opening the door and sliding out. He didn't even make it around the nose of the car before Malia was back at his side, her hand in his once again, leading him up the path to the front door. She never paused, retrieving the spare key from under the gnome on the porch without releasing him and letting them both inside. It was quiet, silent inside, Melissa still at the hospital, probably dealing with the fallout of the missing patient, the man now lying dead on the examination table in the clinic.

"Upstairs."

Her voice was still soft, but firm, commanding, and Scott foggily obeyed, glad for once to have somebody else take charge of the situation. He walked up the steps slowly, boots feeling like they weighed a hundred pounds each, each step sounding in his ears like a gunshot. He felt her presence right behind him, staying close but not touching, just in case, and in a faraway part of his mind he was only vaguely aware of, he felt his as-yet unspoken love for her tick up just a little further. But at the moment, he was too far gone, too lost, to even realise it.

Into his room they went, and before he could collapse on the bed, he felt her hands fall on his waist, turning him toward his bathroom. "Shower first," she said, pushing him toward the door. "You need to get the blood off."

He didn't resist, letting her guide him forward, until he was standing before the shower. Her hands disappeared then, a second before he heard the door close behind them. Then they were back, gently turning him to face her. She didn't look up as her fingers went to work, deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt. At her insistence, he spread his arms, looking blankly down at her as she stripped off the garment, leaving him standing there, naked from the waist up. Dodging around him, she turned on the shower, then moved to face him.

"Scott," she said, reaching out with both hands, resting them on his belt. He could feel the warmth of her skin just millimetres from his own. "Get in the shower. You'll feel better. Hey!" Her sharp exclamation jarred him back to reality for a second, and he finally focused on her, dark eyes meeting hers. "Scott, you need to do this. I'll just be out there." She held his gaze until he nodded jerkily, expression lost but eyes clearer, more aware than they had been.

He waited until she left before he dropped his pants and got under the warm spray. It was hot, scalding, but he didn't utter a sound. He just stood there under the water, letting the powerful spray beat down on his tense back. His body ached all over, every cut and scrape burning under the water, painful reminders that what he'd gone through this night hadn't been entirely emotional. In a way, he was happy to feel the sting, the physical pain something he was used to dealing with. He knew it would go away, the cuts would heal. The other, he wasn't so sure. When the door opened again, he looked up, but it closed again a second later, and he heard his bed springs squeak, and put it out of mind.

Only when the water began to turn cold around him did Scott finally shut off the spray. He stood there for a moment, letting the water drip off him, before he climbed out and reached for a towel. As he dried off his hair, he spotted a pair of his sweat pants sitting on the counter, the bloody clothes he'd stripped off nowhere in sight, and felt a little grateful smile tug at his lips.

When he stepped back out into his room, he found Malia already in bed, wrapped in one of his shirts. She took one look at him and spread her arms, welcoming him in. He fell into bed beside her, slipping below the comforter, and letting her pull him into a powerful embrace. At her insistence, he turned on his side, breathing slowly as he felt her mould herself to his back.

"It'll be okay." Her breath was warm against his neck, just like her body, pressed hard against him. "Just sleep now. Rest."

Closing his eyes, Scott let himself slip away, comforted by the feeling of her, the steady beat of her heart, the scent that was as familiar now to him as his own. It was almost easy there, in that moment, with her all around him, to focus on her face, her smile, her laughter, all his memories of her, let that push out the pain and the hurt. He buried all his negative in the deepest part of his mind, knowing it wasn't gone, just hidden for now, and accepting that. He faded into the blessed numbness of slumber with Malia's face in his mind.

**-l-l-l-l-**

When Scott awoke, he had no idea how long he'd slept. Sunlight was peeking through his window, soft, muted, but bright enough to make him blink blearily as he swam back to consciousness. All he knew was he was pleasantly warm, his various aches and pain from the night before healed and lost to time.

Slowly, his memories returned. The fight, the flight, the loss, the pain. He could feel that little ball of darkness he'd pushed away starting to expand, but it was slowed by the realisation he wasn't alone. Malia was still there, still wrapped around him, like she was trying to shield him from the outside world. It was surprisingly effective against the threats inside his head too. He could feel the solid thrum of her heart against his back, her legs intertwined with his, arms wrapped tight around his midsection, her even breathing, soft and steady in his ear. His guardian.

Struck by a sudden, undeniable urge to see her face, he slowly rolled over, taking as much care as he could not to wake her. Her breathing stuttered slightly as he settled in facing her, but he held still, and after a second, she relaxed back into sleep.

In their new position, Scott was free to study her sleeping face. He couldn't help but smile softly at the peace he saw there, the lack of fear or worry he'd seen far too much of in the werecoyote lately. If he had his way, her mind would never be burdened by anything negative ever again. But that was out of his hands. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was going to be with him, stick by his side, no matter how dark things got. He couldn't shelter her from any of it, no matter how badly he'd like to, just like she couldn't do for him. All she could do was what she had, give comfort and brief but necessary relief from the seemingly constant pain. He would do the same for her every time she needed it, he knew, because he knew what he was looking at.

Scott wasn't just looking at Malia. He wasn't looking at the solitary girl he'd taken into his pack. He wasn't looking at the werecoyote he'd brought back to humanity. He wasn't even looking at the person who'd become his close friend. He was looking at his future, at everything he fought for. The words that had been dying to get out for weeks, months, remained unsaid, but the feeling was there and he wasn't fighting it anymore. It was no longer a matter of holding back, but rather timing. When the moment came, he'd tell her exactly how he felt, and he had no fear in his heart she would turn him down or run from him. Because he knew her, better than he knew almost anybody. They'd seen each other at their most vulnerable, at their weakest, their smallest, and neither had flinched. That meant something to Scott, something massive, something world-shaking, and he would bet everything he'd ever owned that it meant the same to her.

He loved her. He knew that. Loved her in a way he'd never loved anyone before. And he'd tell her, sooner rather than later. The moment would come. He would be ready.

For now, he contented himself by reached out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She stirred slightly when his hand brushed her cheek, and he slowly drew back as her eyes cracked open. For a moment, neither of them said anything, just looking into each other's eyes and soaking up the new sense of intimacy between them.

"Morning," Malia finally said, breaking the comfortable silence before it stretched on too long. Her voice was soft, open, with just a hint of apprehension.

"Hey." He was sure his face was about to crack from the smile on it, but in the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. "Thank you. For last night. For being here with me."

Her face lit up with a smile, wide and open and meant for him. "Any time."

Silence settled between them then, as they just lied there, warm and comfortable and unable to look away. Scott was sure his feelings were written all over his face, but he was more interested in what he saw on hers. She wasn't subtle, never had been, and as he'd grown aware of his own change in feelings toward her, it became clearer and clearer that things weren't one-sided. But the connection had never been as clear, as open as it was now. He knew then his moment had come.

There were a couple ways he could have done it. He could have just started talking, confessed his feelings, told her what he wished, what he wanted. He could have worked up to it, seen if she'd go first, admit what he could see plain as day on her face. But in the end, he let his instincts take over and did what came naturally.

The kiss started soft, questioning, giving her the opportunity to pull back, to push him away. But she didn't. Lifting her head slightly, she slanted her mouth against his, months of pent-up attraction finally allowed to come out in a single, physical expression. When she suddenly pulled away, breaking contact, Scott didn't even have time to react before he found himself rolled onto his back. In true Malia fashion, she took control, straddling his waist, her lips finding his again as her hands settled into the pillow on either side of his head.

When they broke apart, she let out a breathless little huff halfway between a giggle and a sigh. Scott just beamed up at her, his own heart beat loud in his ears, matching hers as they looked into each other's eyes.

"So..." She arched an eyebrow, a little grin quirking up her lips. "How long have you been waiting to do that?"

Scott let his head sink back into the pillow as he let out a little burst of laughter. It felt good to laugh after everything that had happened. Almost as good as the lingering tingle of her on his lips, of her weight pressing down on him, of the revelation of what had been hidden for so long.

"Too long," he admitted, unable to keep the elated grin off his face. "How about you?"

Instead of replying, she leaned back down and kissed him again. He was only too happy to go along with that, secure in the knowledge that the words would come later. If she wanted to, he'd talk all day. About her. About him. About them. About whatever she wanted. But right now, it just felt right to lose himself in this, in _her_ , before the outside world could creep back in and cast a shadow on the brightness of the moment. So he did, revelling in the feel, the scent, the taste of her and tuning out everything else. None of it mattered. Not right now.

Unfortunately, the world had a way of inserting itself into situations no matter how unwanted it was. In this case, that unwelcome appearance came in the form of a ringing phone. A little preoccupied, neither of them reacted at first. But slowly the sound filtered through the pleasant fog in Scott's mind, drawing him back to reality.

"I guess that's our sign," he said, letting out a weary sigh as Malia pulled back, frowning at his phone as it vibrated on the table next to the bed. Reaching out, she snatched it up, but when he lifted his hand to take it from her, she sat up, holding it just out of his reach. "Malia, come on. It could be—"

"No!" His shrank back into his pillow, caught off-guard by the vehemence in her voice. "You need a break. We all need a break. Look at you. The phone rings and it's like the weight of the world is pressing on your shoulders again." Her eyes were flashing as she spoke, but they softened a second later. "Let's just take a minute for _us_. No fighting. Nobody else. Just you and me and... whatever _this_ is."

For a second he was quiet, just looking up at her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the worry that maybe this didn't mean what she was hoping it did. He knew he should say something, reassure her, but he couldn't. Us, she'd said. The first spoken acknowledgement that they weren't just Scott and Malia anymore, but _Scott and Malia_. And he really liked it.

Giving into the warm feeling building in his stomach, he moved suddenly, flipping them over, reversing their positions. She let out a little squeak of surprise, his phone flying out of her hand and clattering to the floor somewhere over near the wall as she found herself on her back, his weight suddenly pressing down on her. He didn't even look, too busy claiming her mouth in a heated kiss, trying to convey without words that whatever fears she had were unfounded. Her hands went to his head, tangling in his hair and pulling him even tighter against her as they moved together, beating back the harsh reality once again.

"Wow," she breathed when he pulled away, leaning his forehead against his shoulder as he caught his breath. "That was..."

"Yeah." He grinned as he lifted his head and met her gaze. "I want to do that again."

"Feel free."

"No." It was suddenly very important that she understand what he meant, that this wasn't just something fun, or a distraction, or anything other than what it was. "I want to do that a lot. This isn't... I don't—I want... _us_." He put as much emphasis on that as he could, willing her to get exactly what he meant as he fumbled helplessly with his words.

She was quiet for a second, face giving nothing away, before the corner of her mouth started twitching a little, like she was trying not to smile. "I like the sound of that," she said softly, reaching up to cup the side of his face. They stared into each other's eyes, letting the enormity of the moment sink in, the recognition of what they were about to start.

When his phone suddenly went off again, completely destroying the moment, Malia's face soured. Scott could only laugh. He let his head sink back down against her shoulder, biting his lip as his whole body shook with suppressed mirth.

"I'm gonna throw that thing out the window," Malia muttered, irritation dripping from every syllable.

Grinning, Scott lifted his head and shrugged apologetically. "Welcome to the life of an Alpha. If we're gonna do this, you'd better get used to it."

"Oh, we're doing this." There was no hesitation in her voice, just conviction, determination, and he could only smile. Then she sighed. "You should probably answer that."

"Yeah." He could hear the reluctance in his own voice, could feel it in his soul. Once he looked at that phone, their morning was over. The real world was back. The problems and the pressure and everything that came with it. It was so tempting to just ignore it, just stay there in bed with her and pretend things were okay for just a little longer, safe and happy in his room.

Time stretched on as he struggled with himself, and after a moment, she poked his shoulder. "Scott. You gonna check it?"

He heaved a weary sigh, then nodded and slowly rolled off her. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the phone, he felt the bed move under him. Looking back, he watched as she rose and stretched, biting back a groan at the way the shirt she'd borrowed slid up with the movement, giving him an enticing peek at what lied beneath it. From the impish grin on her face, he figured she was fully aware of how it looked, what she was doing to him.

"I'm gonna take a shower."

Scott grunted an acknowledgement as he grabbed his phone and looked at it, thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating. He heard her soft footsteps as she padded over to his bathroom, his eyes locked on device in his hand. Just as he took a deep breath, steeling himself to check his messages, something soft hit him in the back of the head. Eyes wide, he turned, immediately spotting the shirt she'd been wearing lying on the bed behind him.

Looking up, he found her peering at him from the bathroom door, unashamedly exposed, an eyebrow arched in challenge. "Want to help wash my back?"

There was no hesitation his time. His phone was tossed on the bed next to her discarded shirt, an afterthought as he quickly made his way to her, to the heaven that awaited him in the next room. He paused in the doorway, and studied her face. There was a lot there, a million emotions, mirrored in his own expression. For a second, they just looked at each other. Then, she held out a hand, and he grasped it in his own, threading their fingers together and letting her pull him inside.

For just a little longer, the world could wait.


	2. 02

**02**

There was something about watching Malia as she moved around his kitchen, making coffee and looking like she belonged there, that hit Scott on a real gut-deep level. It wasn't quite the same as watching her when they were together in the shower, or the little glances and shy smiles as they'd dressed and made their way downstairs. Those were great, beautiful, but this was different. There was something infinitely satisfying about it, something right, something real.

"What?" She'd picked up on his staring, and turned to face him, hip braced against the counter and a questioning look on her face.

"Nothing," he replied, eyes involuntarily scanning her form.

After their shared shower, which had somehow managed to be the most intimate encounter of his life despite the fact they hadn't done much more than kiss and hold each other, they'd put on the same clothes they'd slept in and headed down for some breakfast. Liam's texts had been more about checking up than anything else, so after a quick reassuring reply, they were free to avoid reality for a little longer. He'd taken a seat at the table as she bustled around like she owned the place, very sure of herself, and he couldn't help but watch her work.

"Nothing?" The disbelief on her face and in her tone brought a smirk to his face. Crossing her arms, she arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

His smirk morphed into a grin, and he shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know. I like this." He gestured between them, then around the kitchen. "It feels... good. You know what I mean?"

She was silent for a moment, and he could see the smile tugging at her lips before she nodded. "I do. But don't get too used to it. Pretty sure your mom isn't gonna want me walking around her house like this." She looked down at herself, at the shirt she'd borrowed that barely reach mid-thigh.

"I don't know about that," he said, rising to his feet and starting toward her. She didn't blink or look away from his eyes as he stepped up close, arms falling on either side of her, braced on the counter. "I think she'd understand." His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in close, her head tilting up automatically to keep their eye contact intact. "And technically, we're both adults now. That has to count for something, right?"

"Yeah." The word was barely above a whisper.

Unable to resist any longer, Scott leaned in all the way and kissed her, sinking back into the blissful escape he'd found in her. He felt her arms go around his waist, pulling him insistently against her as she kissed him back, just as eager and involved as he was. They held each other, devoured each other, until the need for oxygen momentarily won out over their need for one another. They just stood there, foreheads touching as they gasped for breath, tried to calm their racing hearts.

Her hands on his chest, pushing softly but insistently, had Scott lifting his head, a questioning look on his face. "Breakfast now," she said softly, looking up into his face. "Kissing later."

"Or we could keep kissing now and eat later," he suggested.

"No. You need to eat. So do I." She paused, frowning. "With the way things have been going, we could get jumped at any minute. So let's take care of that before anything happens."

He couldn't help but smile at that, nodding as he backed away and reclaimed his seat at the table. She busied herself as he went back to watching, going through the fridge and coming out with a box of cold pizza left over from dinner two nights ago. It wouldn't have been his first choice, but she was right. He was hungry. As relaxing as his night with her had been, the fight and all the drama that preceded it had taken a lot out of him. So he sat quietly as she popped it in the microwave, then poured two cups of coffee, and brought one over to him.

"Drink."

He obediently sipped from the cup as she grabbed the pizza and her own mug and joined him at the table. She even took a couple slices out of the box and set them down in front of him before taking a seat in the chair directly across from him.

"Hey," he said, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone as she reached for her own slice. "You don't have to take care of me, you know? That's not..." He sighed and pursed his lips. "That's not your responsibility."

"I know. I want to." She paused to chew a bite of pizza, then shrugged. "I like taking care of you. Somebody has to. It might as well be me, since we're... whatever we're doing here now."

"Dating," he supplied helpfully, almost laughing when she raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Are we? I don't remember going on any dates."

Scott hesitated for a second. He hadn't really considered what label to use. The relationship was too new, too overwhelming, too special to put a name to yet. He figured it would come. Hell, he'd gone months with Kira before they were officially anything, and Allison had been happy with 'dating' until something more concrete had naturally developed. But Malia was different, and this had been building for awhile. It felt more adult, more real than his other relationships, and not just because he was older. The thing between them was electric, but it was more than that. They'd spent all night in bed together, and it hadn't been sexual at all. He didn't think he could have predicted that, and that had to mean something, did mean something.

"I don't know," he finally said, voice soft, unsure, as he met her gaze. "I guess... we're a couple?" It came out as more of a question than he'd intended.

She considered that for a moment, see-sawing her head back and forth. "Together," she finally said. "We're together. How's that?"

"Yeah. Together."

His grin threatened to crack his face, the answering one on hers just as wide. When she raised an eyebrow in silent question a second later, he slid his chair back a bit, and she quickly rounded the table and slid onto his lap.

That's how his mom found them, a few minutes later, when she stepped into the kitchen. "Oh, hey, wow, morning, guys." Breaking apart, they both turned and found Melissa standing in the doorway in her dirty scrubs, looking about as tired as Scott could ever remember seeing her. But despite her obvious exhaustion, there was a little smile tugging at her lips as her warm eyes observed them.

Clearing his throat, Scott shifted a little, not nearly as embarrassed to be caught in such a position as he would have thought he'd be. He felt Malia start to pull away, and instinctively tightened the grip he had on her waist. He'd already made up his mind. This was a good thing, a bright spot in his life when everything around him was going to hell or drowning in darkness. He wasn't going to try and hide it away from any of his family, his friends. He wasn't going to rob either of them of the opportunity to be together, be open, while they still could. She shot him a quick look, but when his face never changed, she just settled back down on him.

"Hey, mom."

"Morning, Melissa."

Making her way into the kitchen, she dropped her bag on the floor next to the table, then sank into the chair Malia had vacated. For a second, she just looked at them, a full-blown smile on her face now. "So, how long's this been going on?"

"Not long," Scott said, as Malia shifted in his lap to face his mom.

"Like two hours," the werecoyote clarified.

"Oh, so really new then." Melissa shook her head, her smile morphing into a smirk. "I guess I can understand why you're making out in my kitchen," she teased, a little surprised when they both just grinned back, not a hint of shame coming from either of them. "All right then. I, uh, well, I think—uh, you know what? Forget about it." She sank back into her chair, leaning her head back as she closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. "I'd love to give you kids the safe sex speech and just embarrass the crap out of you, but I'm too exhausted. Really long night."

That was all it took to make reality come crashing back down on Scott. It was like the bright sunlight streaming through the window got a little dimmer, as his whole body seemed to shrink in on itself. Tension that hadn't shown itself since he woke up suddenly reared its ugly head, visible in the clenching of his jaw, the darkening of his expression. It was like a reverse last twelve hours, as all the happiness, the light he'd built up was suddenly shrinking, pushed aside by the return of the dark, the heavy.

"Did everything—"

Melissa waved him off there, letting out a heavy sigh. "I got everything taken care of. It took some... creative explanations, but I smoothed everything over with the hospital."

"Did you hear about..." He hesitated, reluctant to mention his failure.

The look his mom shot him there, the sympathy he could see in her eyes hit Scott like a shot to the heart. "Yeah, honey." Her voice was gentle, understanding, and that just made it worse. "Argent stopped by and filled me in. I'm sorry."

Before he could say anything, Malia, feeling the change in him, the tension, the sadness, refocused on him. "Hey," she said softly, draping her arms over his shoulders as she peered into his eyes. "You did everything you could. We all did. We can't save everyone, Scott."

"That doesn't make it any easier," he replied, meeting her gaze.

"No, it doesn't. But that doesn't mean you have to carry everything with you like a hundred pound weight around your neck." Her fingers absently began to play with the hair at the base of his neck, his mother's presence completely forgotten as they looked into each other's eyes. "We're going to win this, Scott. We always do. _You_ always do. Bad things are gonna happen along the way, but you can't let that drag you down like this. I'm not gonna let you."

He didn't even try to fight the grin her words sparked in him, giving into the warmth, the certainty in her eyes, her voice, written all over her face. Once again, his dark thoughts receded, forced to the fringes of his mind by her, her presence, her faith in him.

"You're not gonna let me, huh?"

"Nope," she replied playfully, sensing the brightening of his mood. Leaning in, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, before pulling back, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"Wow." Both teenagers turned toward Melissa, who was watching them with closely. She locked eyes with Malia and huffed out a little amused breath. "Glad to see there's somebody who can talk a little sense into him. This," she said, switching her gaze to Scott as she gestured toward the two of them, "I like. Consider it mother-approved, all right? And now I'm going to crash before I black out right here." Rising, she made her way toward the stairs, only pausing briefly to squeeze his shoulder softly on the way passed.

Once they were alone, Scott looked at Malia and arched an eyebrow as he grinned at the beaming werecoyote. "Have I ever told you how much I like your mom?" she asked, and he could hear the happiness in her voice.

"She likes you too, I guess," he murmured, leaning into to kiss her again. When they parted, he let out a little sigh and drummed his fingers against her waist. "Now, we really should meet with everybody and figure out our next move."

"Scott..."

"I'm good, don't worry." He smiled reassuringly and reached up to cup her cheek. "You're right. We're gonna get through this, no matter how bad it gets." He felt his jaw clenched reflexively as the memory of last night's loss briefly flashed through his mind, but he forced himself to relax, to not dwell on the negative while the positive was so close to him. "But we need to plan. We need to get this handled as soon as possible. Too many people have already been hurt."

She stared into his eyes then, like she was trying to see if he was really all right. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her, because after a moment, she nodded and climbed off him. He followed her to his feet, their hands finding each other, sliding together, neither wanting to give up that physical connection, that newly-established bond just yet.

Malia led the way upstairs, back into his bedroom, where they reluctantly got dressed for the day, dragging out the process as much as they could. As ready as Scott was to get things moving, he was reluctant to leave his house, to step outside of the bubble of the last few hours. He knew things wouldn't really change when they left. He and Malia were still together. She was still his rock, his lifeline, his port in this storm. But it was hard to ignore the symbolism.

"What do you think they'll all say?" he found himself asking, lying on his back on his bed as she dug through his closet for a shirt she could borrow.

"I don't know. Nothing, if they're smart. So, expect a bunch of dumb jokes from Stiles." He snorted at that, a second before she suddenly appeared above him, smoothing the wrinkles out of the shirt she'd donned. "And Lydia already knows. What do you think?"

"I like it."

Reaching up, he caught her around the waist and pulled her down on him. She let out a little squeak of surprise, but quickly adjusted, sinking willingly into a long, leisurely kiss that left them both a little breathless and flushed.

As they lied there, letting their racing hearts calm, her words suddenly sank into Scott's mind. "Hey, wait. What do you mean Lydia already knows?"

Raising her head, she blew her hair out of her face and shrugged unconcernedly. "I mean, she'd doesn't _know_. I haven't told her, obviously. I don't even have my phone with me. But she's not blind, Scott. She figured out I was into you, like, a month ago. We talked about you, actually."

"You talked about me?" He tried to sit up, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "I... what, uh, what did you say?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased in a sing-song voice as she slid off him and rose to her feet.

"Yeah, I would," he said as he let her pull him up alongside her. She started toward the door, dancing out of reach when he tried to grab her hand and flashing a grin before she disappeared into the hallway. Shaking his head, he let out an amused sigh and followed her down the stairs. "Come on, Malia. I really want to know."

"Well, that's too bad, because I'll never tell."

She was leaning against the wall next to the door, watching him approach with a little smirk on her face. He paused before her, and reached out for her hand. "I know what you're doing."

"Oh?"

"You're trying to distract me." Leaning in, he gave her a quick kiss, then leaned back to smile down at her. "Thank you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But she squeezed his hand gently before she turned and reached for the doorknob. Sunlight flooded over them as it opened, revealing a day that seemed entirely too bright considering what was going on in Beacon Hills. Looking at him, she cocked an eyebrow in question. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of whatever this is. The characterisation is a little loose on this one, but it is what it is. Turns out having a vague threat hanging over the whole story is actually harder to work with than a specific one, because you want to keep adding in little details, but that sort of goes against the point.


	3. 03

When it was all over, she found him.

Scott was standing in the center of the clearing where he'd found the enemy. His face was streaked with blood, both his own and not, accumulated through the hard fighting he'd had to do just to reach his target. At his feet was the body of the one who'd started all this, the one who'd done everything he could to destroy Beacon Hills and kill everyone who lived there. He was gone, dead by his own hand, a wolfsbane-laced bullet to the temple bringing a complete and final end to the fear and pain he'd tried to spread.

Conflicted. That was the best way he could describe how he was feeling. Scott had seen death, and it wasn't the first time, but it was never something he'd be comfortable with. The sudden cessation of life, abrupt and violent and right in front of him was something that was going to stick with him for a long time. But it also meant the fight was over. They'd won. He hadn't had to cross that line, become a killer, something he'd been thinking about more and more as time went on. But was this better? That question had his mind in turmoil as he stood over his fallen foe, stationary, frozen.

"Scott."

He didn't respond to his name, eyes locked on the corpse before him. He'd smelled Malia the second she'd stepped into the clearing, heard her soft approach, the slight catch in her breath when she realised what he was staring at, but he couldn't look away.

When she stepped up behind him, her arms going around his waist, hands pressing tight against his stomach, the sudden warmth, the human contact drew him from his chaotic thoughts. He leaned back into her, clasping his hands over hers, and finally closed his eyes, letting her presence help him drown out the anguish, the pain of the night.

"Are you all right?" she murmured.

"Are you?"

He could smell the blood on her, the anger, the lingering fear in her scent, fading but still there, a stark reminder of how hard the fight had been. It made his hair stand on end, made him want to find who hurt her and show them just how massive a mistake they'd made. But not as much as he just wanted to stand there and let her hold him.

"I'm good. Tired, sore, but good." He felt her forehead come to rest on his back, then the relief in her voice, nearly buried under the exhaustion. "We did it. We won."

"Never any doubt, right?" he asked dryly, as he slowly turned in the circle of her arms, his own hands going to her waist.

"None."

The word was said with such conviction, such fervent belief it caught Scott off-guard. He'd been joking, thinking about his own doubts over the last few weeks, all the times he'd almost given up hope. Even tonight, after giving his best attempt at a motivational speech for the others, rallying the troops for one last desperate push, he'd been uncertain and more frightened than he could ever remember being before. But now, looking in her eyes, he could see the faith there, the faith in _him_. She'd been there with him through it all, had seen him stumble, only just hanging on, only just keeping it together, and her belief in him hadn't waivered at all.

Overcome by that loyalty, that unshakable trust, Scott couldn't help but kiss her. It started off slow, soft, but quickly turned hard, mouths slanting against one another, all that leftover adrenaline from a hard won battle boiling over at once. Hands, fingers tangled in hair and clothing, bodies pressed together in a visceral expression of all they were feeling, relieved and triumphant and free. Free to be as they were, young and in love, without a threat hanging over their heads or darkening their thoughts. There would be something else, some new issue to crawl inside their minds and turn the light to dark before too long, because there always was. But not now, not yet. Right now, it was just about the only thing that mattered. Her and him. _Them_.

When they parted, no words were said. She just smiled that soft little smile that was only for him, fingers intertwining with his, and led him out of the clearing, away from the body, the conflict, the war. It was quiet, surrounded by just the trees and the night, peaceful.

"Is everybody else all right?" Scott felt a little flash of guilt as he asked the question. He should have asked sooner. It should have been the first thing he'd asked, would have been under almost any other circumstances.

Malia squeezed his hand reassuringly. "They're fine. Liam got cut up pretty bad, but he'll heal."

He let out a little breath of relief. He would never have voiced it, but he'd been worried going into the night that not all of his friends were going to pull through. They were just up against too much, the odds seemingly insurmountable. It was part of why he'd waited so long to call his shot, exhausting every other potential move before finally giving into the inevitable.

Scott wasn't sure how long they walked, but eventually the trees began to thin, as they neared the area where the fight had started, a large clearing connected to the main road by a narrow dirt path. He hadn't been there long, pursuing the leader deeper into the woods in an attempt to end things before they could really start, trusting his friends, his pack to do what they always did.

Stepping out of the trees and into the clearing, Scott froze, eyes scanning, taking in the sight. It really did look like a warzone, emphatically driving home just how close they'd all come to annihilation that night. Bodies littered the ground, some conscious, and other clearly not. The humans had been rounded up and restrained, face down, hands cuffed behind their backs. The supernaturals were similarly subdued, the powerful sedative Deaton had cooked up keeping them under as an extra layer of security until they figured out what to do with them. The unmistakable scent of blood hang heavy in the air, blanketing the entire area. It was something Scott was sure he'd never forget, an unpleasant memory that would stick with him for the rest of his life.

"Scott!"

Stiles' shout seemed to be the cue for everyone to started moving. They all gathered in the center of the clearing, bloody and battered but still standing tall, victorious. The former hunter, eyes bright and aware despite his bruises. The Banshee, limping and frazzled, but unbent, arm in arm with her excited boyfriend. The Hellhound, shirtless and covered in ash, standing shoulder to shoulder with the exhausted Sheriff. The Beta werewolf, his torso awash in his own blood, but a wide grin on his face as he looked at his Alpha.

Looking around at all those faces, all those people, tired and beaten but unbowed, Scott felt prouder than he ever had before. His pack had proven once again that they could withstand any threat, could stick together and protect their home, each other. They were the best friends he could have asked for. No, they were more than that.

Fighters. Survivors. Family.

**-l-l-l-l-**

Scott led the way into his house, Malia's hand warm and soft in his. The second he stepped through the door, his mom was there, pulling him into a powerful embrace. He could help but smile as he wrapped his free arm around her, holding her close while she squeezed him tight, reassuring herself he was all right. Over her shoulder, he caught Argent's eye, getting a wink and a nod from the former hunter.

"Oh, honey," Melissa said a second later, pulling back so she could look up at him. "Are you all right?"

He could see the relief on her face, a welcome change from the worry and fear he'd seen there almost every time he'd looked at her over the last few weeks. He knew how it weighed on her, all the trouble that he had to deal with, all the danger, the possibility that one of these times, he wouldn't come home. A part of him wished it could be different, it could be easier, but he also knew she was proud of him, of how he fought for what was right even when it would be easier to pass that responsibility on to someone else, to bury his head in the sand and pretend things were still normal. It was part of why he continued to fight, to be the man she'd raised him to be.

"I'm fine, mom," he said softly, "We all are."

At that, her eyes moved from him to the girl standing at his side. Before Malia could react, the nurse pulled her into an equally crushing hug. She turned wide eyes on Scott, who just grinned and shrugged. After a second of standing rigid, the werecoyote relaxed into the embrace, her free arm coming up and patting Melissa's shoulder.

"It's okay," she said awkwardly, "everybody's okay. It's over."

It really was. The clean-up had gone a lot smoother than Scott was anticipating. The humans had been carted off by Stilinski and Parrish, hit with every weapons-related charge they could come up with, and handed off to the FBI. Once the sedative had worn off for the supernaturals, they'd been given the choice to either rot in Eichen House or leave town and forget about everything that happened there. They'd chosen the latter, none expressing much interest in staying in town now that their leader was dead. Scott had encouraged that decision, drawing on his authority as an Alpha to make it clear what would happen if they ever returned.

Stiles had wanted to celebrate, high on the adrenaline, but he'd been soundly voted down by the rest of the group. Instead, he and Lydia took Liam to Deaton just to make sure the Beta wasn't in any danger from his wounds, then headed home to rest.

Scott had stuck around with the Sheriff, unwilling to leave until he was sure the threat was completely gone, all the pieces taken off the board. Malia refused point-blank to leave his side when he suggested she go get some sleep, so they'd gone to the police station while Argent went to let Melissa know they'd come out on top and everybody was going to be okay. Only once everything was settled did the pair finally make their way back to the McCall house.

"All right," Melissa said, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. "You two go get cleaned up. I'm gonna order some pizza, because I think we could all use some food and I am in no mood to cook. Go on, get going." She shooed them towards the stairs, and they went willingly, both eager to clean off the dried blood and dirt.

Inside his room, Scott closed the door softly and leaned his forehead against it, letting out a weary sigh. Other than those brief moments after Malia found him, he'd refused to relax, holding himself up because he was the leader, the Alpha, and he needed to be strong for his pack. But here, now, safe in his room, away from the world, he could finally let himself take a breath and be human, be the exhausted teenager he was underneath it all. He didn't even move when he heard the floor creak behind him, felt Malia's hands come to rest on his shoulders. He just pressed his eyes closed, taking deep, shuddering breaths as the effort, the impact of the night finally hit him in full.

"Scott," she said softly after a minute, hands squeezing gently, letting him know she was there with him. "It's okay. We're okay." He let out a little grunt, not trusting himself to speak yet. "Come on, your mom was right. We need to get these wounds fixed up." Her voice changed then, taking on a note of challenge, almost an invitation. "I'll clean yours if you'll clean mine."

At that, a little smile appeared on his face. He couldn't help but cheer up when she said things like that. Slowly, he straightened up, turning around, meeting her eyes. She arched an eyebrow as their gazes met and held out her hand. Without hesitation, he grasped it, willingly letting her pull him across the floor, into the bathroom. Neither of them broke eye contact once he closed the door, stripping down to their underwear silently, quickly, baring skin and wounds, physical reminders of a battle that could have killed them both, a battle they'd survived.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, taking in the sight of each other, completely open. Scott was pretty sure he knew her body better than his own at this point, and it irked him a little to see the cuts, the blood decorating it. But another part of him couldn't help but see it differently. They weren't just wounds, they were badges of honour, proof of her strength, her ability to withstand so much.

Malia was the first to move, to break the stillness, stepping forward suddenly and gently tracing a fingertip over a long scratch on his neck. "Claws," he said, voice husky, divining the question in her actions from the look on her face.

His hand came up then, ghosting over a deep scrape on her left arm. "Arrow," she said, shivering at his light touch. He raised an eyebrow, then dropped his hand to her side, hovering over a bloody groove just above her hip. "Bullet." She paused, frowning. "I think. I don't know. Things were kind of crazy out there."

Scott chuckled then, his other hand falling on her other hip as he leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. "This is pretty messed up. You were shot. I was stabbed." He felt her fingers brush against the deep gash across his abdomen, no longer bleeding but still stinging sharply hours later. "Do you ever wonder about our lives, about how different they could've been if Peter never bit me?"

"Well, not really. I mean, I'd still be a coyote. Or, y'know, _dead_." Pulling back, she looked into his eyes, a little smile playing around her lips. "And I wouldn't be able to do this."

Reaching up, she locked her hands behind his head and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He could feel the intensity in it, the feeling, the _love_. And he knew in that moment that he would never give this up for anything. If he could go back and do it all over again, he'd make the same choices, follow the same path that led him to this moment, to _her_. He'd change some things, save some people he'd failed, do some things sooner, but in the end, this was where he wanted to be, where he always wanted to end up.

What followed was a new experience. They'd had sex before, but this time, things felt different. That looming danger was gone. They weren't going to die tomorrow. Their friends were safe. There were no outside worries, just the feel, the taste, the presence of each other. If asked, Scott wouldn't have been able to put words to exactly what the difference was, how it manifested. He would have just said things weren't quite the same. They were brighter somehow, sharper, more defined. The exhaustion, the discomfort of faded into the background as they expressed their love. Hands trailed over wounds, grasping, caressing, and it didn't matter, the pain ignored, pushed aside, lost in their passion.

When it was over, they leaned against each other, breathing labored, hearts racing, and Scott was sure it was the most perfect moment in his life. "I love you," he whispered. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but as much as he'd meant it all those other times, he'd never meant it as much as he did then.

Malia was quiet for a second, then huffed out a little breath. "I love you too." Slowly, she pulled back, not so subtly pushing him toward the shower. "Now, we really should get cleaned up before your mom comes up here looking for us." Scott snorted at that, but willingly went along with her, following her into the shower.

As the hot water cascaded down around them, washing away the blood and dirt, Scott found himself wondering what was next. He didn't want to think too far ahead, at least not yet. In a few days, when everything settled, when normalcy—or what passed for it—set back in, he knew he'd have a clearer view. There was still too much tainting his mind, his outlook, to have a clear picture of what was to come. There were too many variable, too many what ifs, too many maybes to be sure of the future.

There was only one thing he was sure of. Malia. He was sure of her. He was sure that when he finally crawled into bed tonight, she'd be with him. He was sure he'd wake up tomorrow and she'd be there. He was sure that no matter what happened next, good or bad, she'd be by his side. And he was sure, more sure than he'd ever been of everything in his life, that she was all he needed. Everything else would sort itself out. They'd face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this one. I debated doing a chapter between the previous and this one showing how everybody reacted to Scott and Malia getting together, but I decided to save that for a different story. Obviously, I sort of just glossed over a lot of the details in this one, because the conflict was just the back-drop for what I was actually doing here. Same thing for the after-battle meeting of the pack. I had to include a little, because how could I not? But that wasn't the focus of the story, so I kept it short.


End file.
